


The Best Kept Secret In Central City (or Colonel Mustang Used To Be a Lucky Bastard)

by PandoraCulpa



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Gen, Humor, Promptfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-19
Updated: 2009-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-03 10:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandoraCulpa/pseuds/PandoraCulpa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Central City is freezing, the Military Headquarters has lost heat, and Colonel Mustang is keeping a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Kept Secret In Central City (or Colonel Mustang Used To Be a Lucky Bastard)

Mid-January always brought the worst of storms to Central City. Bitter winds blew down from the north, howling through the streets and shaking tightly latched shutters. The skies were shrouded in a thin gray scrim of clouds, and snow fell almost daily. Commerce slowed as people huddled within their homes, unwilling to face the biting chill outside, and only the most essential business kept the city moving. Within the military Headquarters building, the cold had crept in and made itself at home, as the ancient boilers in the basement wretchedly protested their labor and gave up the fight against the climate. But the government never ceased; soldiers and staff simply donned new layers of stiff blue wool, and continued the endless routine of bureaucracy, shuffling, filing, scuttling back and forth between frigid offices, breath steaming like industrious engines.

Second Lieutenant Havoc eyed the unlit cigarette mournfully before wedging it back between his lips, as though perhaps even it's modest warmth could have kept the cold at bay. Not that Hawkeye would have ever permitted such an infraction within her domain; the office may have Colonel Mustang's name upon the door, but hers was the iron will that ran the office to the letter of decorum. Not even the inveterate slacker himself, the Colonel, was immune to her displeasure, and so the sudden arrival of winter to their workspace made no impact whatsoever on their routine. Breda had carelessly commented that the temperature made it impossible to feel his fingers, much less write reports, whereupon she had sent him straightaway out to the warehouses with requisitions for gloves and a new box of pens. After that, complaints were kept far more circumspect.

The Colonel himself made his appearance just before noon, giving an offhanded smirk to his staff as he strode through the office with casual grace. His black greatcoat was draped loosely across his shoulders, as though the arctic temperatures were hardly worth his notice, and then only for style's sake. Hanging the coat on the rack, he snapped a return salute to the First Lieutenant, and accepted the stack of papers she handed him with a pronounced grimace. Havoc rolled his eyes as the Colonel retreated to his personal office, nudging Breda with his elbow as he gestured toward the closing door.

"D'you suppose he's trying to make a point?" he asked, and nodded in the direction of the abandoned coat.

A frown creased Breda's broad face, and he shrugged. "What, that this weather isn't enough to freeze the bollocks off the mighty Flame Alchemist? The fuck should I know, but I call dibs on that coat."

"Shit," Havoc swore miserably, chewing the cigarette. "I shoulda thought of that."

"A greatcoat would hamper the Colonel's ability to work efficiently," remarked Falman, settling down at the desk across from Havoc. He was swathed in several layers of scarves and topped with the hat from his dress blues, which had the result of looking somewhat ludicrous, but clearly didn't hamper his own efficiency. Breda and Havoc exchanged a glance.

"Since when has the Chief ever worried about being efficient?" Havoc pointed out, gesturing with a pen. "That's the Lieutenant's job."

"Colonel Mustang is a noble man," piped up Fuery, as he began distributing folders to the seated men. Falman took his with murmured thanks, flipping it open and beginning to read, but the two Second Lieutenants just stared at the young Sergeant Major.

"The fuck, Kain?" growled Breda. "What's that got to do with it?"

Fuery colored slightly. "He's setting an example for his subordinates," he stammered. "He's not complaining about the cold, or letting it slow him down. He's putting a good face on a bad situation."

"He's probably setting his desk on fire to stay warm," Breda predicted gloomily, "now that there's no one to see him. He only shuts his door when he's up to something."

Four pairs of eyes fixed on the dark wooden rectangle at the end of the room.

"Flame Alchemist," Havoc breathed, and Breda nodded. Fuery gaped at the door as though expecting to see smoke leaking from underneath it, and even Falman's severe face held a trace of curiosity. But further speculation was curtailed as the First Lieutenant passed the table, her dark eyes pinning each of them in turn until they dutifully turned their attention back to their paperwork. But Havoc kept sneaking little glances toward Mustang's office, rolling his cigarette back and forth across his lips as he contemplated the mystery.

* * * *

 

"I must be freezing to death," Havoc moaned, after Hawkeye swept past bearing a new load of documents from the Colonel's office. "I'd swear I feel warmer."

Breda only grunted, but Falman's mouth pulled even tighter than usual.

"Curious. I felt that, too, as the First Lieutenant exited the Colonel's office."

Breda lifted his head, tented beneath the voluminous wool of the Colonel's greatcoat he'd stolen off the rack. "Something on fire?" he asked, then instantly corrected himself. "Nah, Hawkeye'd've done for him, if he were burning things in his office."

"Why not ask the Lieutenant?" Fuery suggested.

"I've been sent to the warehouses once already, thanks," Breda grumbled, pulling his head back under the folds of the coat like a turtle. "Feel free to ask her yourself though. Just don't let her think you're complaining."

"Complaining, I can tolerate," Hawkeye interjected, leaning over Breda's hunched back to drop a stack of reports in front of him. "But it still won't excuse you from completing your work." Breda just tugged at his gloves irritably, and picked up the report on the top of the pile.

Havoc sighed as the Lieutenant handed him his share of reports. "You're a slave driver, ma'am," he grumbled, leaning back and turning his most beseeching gaze on her. "I'm know I'm dying of hypothermia, and you're still bringing paperwork."

Hawkeye just gave him a level stare. "Then you'll want to move, to keep your blood circulating. Go down to Records, and get the latest intelligence reports on the military buildup in Creta." Havoc groaned, but pushed his chair away from the table, while Breda snickered at him from underneath the black coat.

"Told ya," he grinned, until Hawkeye distributed the reports from Havoc's stack amongst the remaining men.

"The sooner they're done, the sooner we can leave," she stated, at Breda's moan of dismay. "And they'll get done quicker if they're not waiting for Second Lieutenant Havoc's return."

Despite the aching cold of the room Havoc grinned in honest amusement, while his dour comrade scowled in response.

"Hurry back," Breda grouched. "I miss you already."

* * * *

 

Havoc's trip to Records was so quick that Falman surmised he must have jogged the distance there and back. Indeed, the second Lieutenant was out of breath, his face pinked by the frigid outdoor air. "I think it's getting worse," he lamented, still shivering. "I mean, by comparison it almost feels warm in here."

"Warm, it isn't," grunted Breda, still hunched under the Colonel's greatcoat. "Though I'd imagine it is better than the parade ground. The wind sounds terrible."

"Cuts like a knife," Havoc agreed. "Where's Hawkeye?"

Fuery gave a cheerful grin. "Lieutenant Hawkeye is very kindly getting us all coffee," he explained. "A warm drink will surely help us all feel better."

Breda gave a loud snort, making the coat shake. "Bribery. Never would have thought her capable."

"You accepted her offer readily enough." Falman eyed him down his long nose, and the blocky man shrugged, winking.

"Well, coffee _does_ sound good right about now."

"So what do I do with these?" Havoc had finally stopped shaking, and waved the folder of paperwork vaguely at the others. "Just toss them with the rest on the file cabinet?"

"Give 'em to the Chief," Breda suggested. "The sooner he's done with them, the sooner they come back to us, and the sooner we get to go back to the dorms, where the blessed heat had better still be working." He tugged the black coat down over his head, and pulled his paperwork closer. "And while you're there, tell him he doesn't get his coat back until it's time for all of us to go home."

Havoc tossed a mock salute at his friend, and strode to the Colonel's door. A muffled reply sounded at his brisk knock and the second Lieutenant slipped inside, hurriedly shutting the door at Mustang's cross rejoinder. Breda lifted an eyebrow at the display, and Falman shrugged. "It doesn't sound as though the Colonel's too happy to see those reports."

"Who would be?" Breda turned back to his own work, but in a matter of minutes the door swung open once more and Havoc stumbled back out, his face slack and shocked.

"Sir?" piped up Fuery, who stood and motioned Havoc to take his seat. "You don't look so good."

"Colonel tried to kill the messenger, eh?" Breda jibed, but he paused as he took in the blond Lieutenant's peculiar look "Jean? What the hell?"

Havoc dropped into the offered seat as though his legs were giving way. "Warm," he stammered. "It's...warm."

"Fuck, he's lost his mind." Breda heaved himself to his feet, swinging the Colonel's coat from his shoulders and settling it around Havoc. "Jean, it's cold enough to freeze the balls off a bear. Hang in there, Hawkeye'll be along with some coffee soon; that'll set you straight."

Shaking his head, Havoc raised a trembling hand to point at the Colonel's door. "Not here. _There_. The office is warm."

The others stared at him in bafflement and some degree of skepticism, but he persisted. "It's not like it's summer in there or anything, but it's warm. It's comfortable. I don't know how- I didn't see any kind of heater- but somehow, he's done it. He's got the one warm room in the whole goddamn complex."

Breda's eyes narrowed, and he chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. Falman frowned, fingers absently playing with the end of one of his scarves, while Fuery looked frankly bewildered. "That doesn't make sense. How could only that room be warm? Are you sure there wasn't a kerosene heater beneath his desk?"

"The Lieutenant would never allow a kerosene heater in the office," Falman stated, though his voice was somewhat subdued and distant. "It's against regulation, not to mention safety codes."

"The Lieutenant!" Breda snapped his fingers, his small eyes alight. "She's been in and out of his office all day! She'd have to know about this!"

"But why wouldn't she tell us?" Fuery spread his hands wide. "It's not like it's classified information."

"No," Havoc agreed, his eyes drifting back toward the door, "but it's certainly a distraction. Now that I know, all I can think about is getting back in there." He slumped beneath the coat Breda had draped over his shoulders, face forlorn, his unlit cigarette hanging, forgotten, from the corner of his mouth. Falman watched him without expression, while Fuery attempted to distract the second Lieutenant with bracing reminders of the forthcoming coffee.

Breda, however, squared his shoulders, like a man preparing for battle. "Gentlemen," he announced, "I see only one solution to this issue."

Havoc's attention shifted back to him, and even Falman's brows lifted with curiosity. "And that would be?"

The stocky man gave his fellow officers a wicked grin. "A direct assault."

* * * *

 

In the end, it was agreed that Kain would be the one to open the door. It wasn't a unanimous vote, but a three to one majority overruled Fuery's protests, and Havoc pointed out that of all of them, the young Sergeant Major was the least likely to draw Mustang's ire. And so the man found himself at the point of a spearhead outside the Colonel's office door, Falman muttering about thermostats and room occupancies, while Breda kept swiveling his head about as though expecting Hawkeye to reappear at any moment. Havoc patted Fuery on the shoulder in what was meant as a reassuring, compassionate gesture, while at the same time attempting to position the smaller man as a shield before him. Swallowing hard, the unfortunate Sergeant glanced back at the grim faces of his comrades before reaching a hesitant hand for the doorknob.

"Confidently!" Breda hissed, nudging his arm. "Don't show any weakness!"

"C'mon, hurry, it's warm in there!" Havoc stopped his patting to prod Fuery in the back.

"Will you two stop it! Unless you want to..."

"He can probably hear this," Falman pointed out, and Breda snorted.

"Just get on with it, Kain."

The Colonel didn't look too happy to see them, Havoc reflected, as all four men finally shouldered their way into his office. Seated at his desk behind several precariously teetering stacks of paperwork, pen in hand, he wore a harried expression which only darkened as his officers gathered in front of him. Setting the pen down, he flexed his fingers (which Havoc noted with some trepidation, were indeed covered by his customary white gloves), and gave them all a long, searching look. "To what do I owe the dubious honor of this assembly?" he drawled mildly, although the expression in his eyes indicated he might be considering punishments that far outstripped Hawkeye's errands in the elements.

Fuery blanched, and might have attempted a retreat had Breda not been blocking the door. But Havoc just shrugged, grinning at the Colonel around his cigarette. "Sorry, Chief, but they just had to see for themselves."

Mustang arched an eyebrow at him. "See what?"

"It _is_ warm in here!" Breda exclaimed, as though the Colonel hadn't spoken, and Falman echoed the sentiment in the reverent tones of a scientist who has just uncovered an unexpected new truth.

At Breda's words the Colonel's frown deepened, his thoughts visibly whirling behind his dark eyes. "It's considerably less warm than you would think," he began, but Breda overrode him.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but it's fuckin' balmy in here. 'Least it is by comparison to the rest of the office." The red-haired Lieutenant's face spread in a happy grin. "It's damn nice."

"How wonderful," the Colonel replied with a smile, but his voice was clipped and tight, suggesting disaster looming for the men in very short order. "Now that you've satisfied your curiosity, I believe there's work to be done?" He tilted his head toward the door but no one moved an inch in response to his rather blatant hint.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Havoc rocked back and forth heel to toe. "Well sir," he began slowly, dragging the words out, "that might be a bit of a problem."

"Oh?"

Havoc stammered a bit at the warning injected into that single word. "Well, you see sir, with the cold... I mean, it's _really_ cold... and we can barely feel our fingers even, let alone..."

"What he's saying sir," Breda interjected with a sharp look at his friend, "is that on account of it being so cold and all, we'd like to work in here too."

Mustang began slowly drumming his fingers on his desk. "This size of this office isn't large enough to accommodate myself and all of you. There is only one desk, which I am using, and no tables. And I am not so lax on military procedures as to allow you to work on the floor."

"Actually sir," Falman said, looking almost astonished at himself for speaking, "your office's capacity is for up to twelve occupants. It provides more than adequate space for half that, if we are tidy in our workspace."

"And there are card tables in the storage closet," Havoc added, cigarette bouncing in his excitement. "We could set those up just beyond the sofa..."

"Now wait a minute..."

Falman nodded in agreement. "And being in the same room would surely increase our working efficiency. Not to mention that the warmth itself would improve morale and allow us to exert more energy toward doing our jobs than simply keeping warm."

"I sure as shit would stop bitching about the cold, and actually get some work done," Breda noted casually, leaning back against the door jamb, pleasure filling his broad face. "Might even give you your coat back."

"My coat...? Now hold on just a moment!" The Colonel's voice rose in aggravation, and he brought both hands down with a resounding slam against his desktop. Silence filled the room, and Mustang shut his eyes briefly. "You all seem to have forgotten the chain of command," he growled, the dangerous authority in his tone instantly snapping all the men to attention. "This is _my_ office, and you will _not_ commandeer it without so much as a by-your-leave."

He uncoiled from his chair, stalking around to the front of his desk and leveling a hard look at each man. "If I allow you in here, it will hardly end there. Of course Lieutenant Hawkeye would join us, but what if someone from Investigations comes to retrieve some files? Or one of the secretaries from Records? Shall I invite them in as well? If word of the temperature of this office gets out, I can assure you that none of us, myself included, will be working in here. More likely, we'll all end up pushed out of even the modest comforts of this office, while someone like General Hakuro or General Toller relocates here. Are you interested in working in General Toller's drafty corner office? Because _I_ am not!"

Sighing theatrically, the Colonel finished his circuit of the desk and returned to stand beside his chair. "I cannot help that the temperature in this room is marginally higher than the temperature without. But even the cold doesn't relieve you of the expectations that you will comport yourselves with the dignity and responsibility of your respective ranks. Now I expect you all to turn around, go back to your desks and do your damned jobs so that we can all go home on time!"

Startled, the men began to instinctively file out of the office, Havoc casting a look of longing despair over his shoulder. But as the door opened and the cold air from the outer room reached out with an icy caress, their progress abruptly bottlenecked in the doorway. Mustang's mouth curved down in a fierce scowl, already drawing breath to shout, but he paused when he saw the source wasn't Havoc or Breda as would be expected, but rather Sergeant Major Fuery.

The young officer- who had only half-listened to the debate while staring in bemusement at his hands, his fingertips prickling as they began to warm again- was now braced in the doorframe, a look of intense conflict on his face. Behind him Havoc, feeling that he was far too exposed to the effects of the Colonel's gloves, muttered "Go on, move, don't make him any angrier," but Fuery planted his feet and refused to budge. Falman began to moan softly about reprimands and permanent records, while even Breda looked nervous, but Fuery- transfigured by the arctic chill- abruptly turned back to face the Colonel, his face frozen between terror and grim resolution.

"Colonel," he stated, his firm tone ruined by the high squeak that accompanied the last syllable of the title. "You should know, sir, that I am aware of where you've hidden rather a lot of paperwork. The cache that Lieutenant Hawkeye hasn't found yet. I know where it is."

Three pairs of eyes shifted from Fuery's pale, round face to the Colonel. There was only the briefest glimpse of utter amazement visible in his expression before his mask was back in place, smirk lifting one corner of his lips. Regarding the Sergeant Major through half-lidded black eyes, the Colonel managed to sound amused when he answered, "So what do you intend to do with that information, Sergeant? Are you going to tell on me to the Lieutenant?"

Like a tennis match, the eyes flickered to Fuery, who swallowed hard. But he lifted his chin, still meeting his commander's gaze. "No sir," he replied. "Not if you let us work in your office."

Heads swiveled back to the Colonel, breathless.

"She'll find them anyway, eventually," Mustang reasoned aloud, studying the man in front of him with an almost predatory smile. "I don't see how it's to my advantage to meet your demands when the end result is still inevitable."

In unison, the three looked at Fuery again.

The small man stood straighter, his normally mild face cast with uncharacteristic strength. "Sir," he said calmly, "I never had any intention of telling _Hawkeye_."

Despite the cold, Havoc felt a bead of sweat trickle from his brow.

Mustang's eyes had narrowed suspiciously. "Oh?"

But there was a note of uncertainty in his voice. At Havoc's shoulder, Breda hissed, "Holy shit, _Kain_..."

Taking a step forward, Fuery nodded. "Sir, all we want is to warm up a bit. But if you won't allow us to work in your office, then I will have no choice but to tell Edward about your stash of paperwork."

Havoc's jaw dropped open. Behind him, Falman let out a small gasp, and Breda cursed beneath his breath. Hawkeye was used to the Colonel's behavior, having put up with it for years, and locating the 'missing' files before the stash grew to troublesome proportions was now an established routine. At worst she would give the Colonel a stern talking-to, maybe brandish her sidearm, and make him stay late to finish up the intentionally misplaced paperwork.

Edward, on the other hand, would use the information to make the Colonel's life a living hell. Not only would he read through the files, his nimble mind storing up more information than was safe for him to know, but he'd hold what he learned over the Colonel's head forever. And once he had seen where Mustang had hidden this batch of paperwork he'd be able to work out other likely hiding spots in the future, ready to reveal them to Hawkeye at the worst possible moment. Or possibly conveniently 'find' the stashes while General Hakuro was doing inspections, or even worse, the Fuhrer...

The Colonel dropped back into his seat with a thump, mask shattered and mild horror painting his features. "You wouldn't."

Another nod. "I would, sir. I would feel terrible about it, but I'll do it if you force me."

Those black eyes were open as wide as they would go. "You're bluffing," he whispered, and Fuery shook his head with regret.

"I'm not, sir. Don't make me do it."

The entire room held its breath as the two men stared each other down. Finally the Colonel dropped his head into his hand with a muffled curse. "Fine," he spat, defeated. "Bring the damn card tables."

Fuery wilted with relief and Breda let out a hoot of exultant disbelief, pushing Havoc aside to clap the Sergeant on the shoulder nearly hard enough to knock him over. Havoc shuddered with helpless, nervous laughter, and even Falman's stern face was cracked with a smile. Snapping a quick salute, Lieutenant Havoc beamed at the Colonel. "I'll go get them now, sir!"

"And I'll get the paperwork," Falman added, falling into line behind Havoc. Mustang merely grunted in response, but pointed a stiff finger at Breda.

"You," he growled. "You'll return my coat. Now! And don't leave the goddamn door open- you're letting all the heat out!"

* * * *

 

When Hawkeye returned with the coffee she found everyone packed into Mustang's inner office, working industriously on wobbly card tables, and grins on every face but the Colonel's. She said nothing, distributing the coffee amongst the quietly gleeful men and observing everything from Havoc's somewhat stunned happiness to Fuery's poorly suppressed smile that spoke of embarrassed pride to Mustang's overblown attempts at dignity. She pursed her lips, unsurprised at the obvious mutiny that had occurred in her absence. She could have told the Colonel that keeping the secret of his temperate office was doomed to failure.

"It wasn't my idea," Mustang muttered sulkily as she placed a steaming cup of black coffee in front of him. "Don't give me that look."

She gave it to him anyway, unable to resist needling the already flustered colonel. "Can't leave you unattended for fifteen minutes without the office falling apart, can I, sir?" she murmured, and chuckled inwardly as Mustang's face turned bright red and barks of laughter broke out at her back.

Hawkeye shot a quick look over her shoulder, one eyebrow lifted, and the laughter abruptly ceased. Nodding in satisfaction she took up her own work, the natural order of the office once again resumed, even if it _was_ balanced on the shaky legs of folding tables.

* * * *

 

God, he was warm again! Okay, maybe not _warm_, but listening to the wind howl and rattle at the Colonel's window, Havoc rejoiced that he was at least no longer shivering and able to see his breath as he sorted and notarized his own paperwork. It made the tedious toil almost pleasant by comparison with the morning's work. Hawkeye hadn't needed to reprimand anyone but the Colonel, and across the table Breda was actually _humming_ as he stuffed envelopes. It was all downright surreal.

It was also rather curious. Havoc still hadn't been able to figure how the office was being heated; there was no kerosene stove, no fire, nor were there any visible alchemical arrays; the only other solution he'd been able to imagine for the mild warmth of the room. He set aside a completed folder, idly taking up the next as Hawkeye glided around to retrieve and file the finished job. Where _was_ it coming from?

He pondered the mystery for a few more minutes, pretending to read the report in front of him while surreptitiously examining the walls and ceiling of the office. There _had_ to be an explanation, and with the cold itself no longer such a distraction, the source of the office heating readily took its place. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer.

"Hey, Chief," he ventured, the first officer other than Hawkeye to dare to speak to the Colonel since their coup, "how did you manage to warm this place up, anyway? I can't see anything out of the ordinary, and yet it's snug as shit in here. If you ask me, sir, that's a pretty neat trick."

Breda glanced up, eyes bright with curiosity, and Falman's pen paused its ceaseless motion as he, too, waiting for the Colonel's answer. Only Hawkeye and Fuery- who seemed determined to push his luck no further than he already had- appeared uninterested in the response.

At first the Colonel looked as though he was going to ignore the question, but he finally set his pen down and met Havoc's gaze over steepled fingers. There was still a faint hint of sulkiness in his mouth, but his eyes gleamed with self-mockery as a thin, ironic smile curved his lips.

"I honestly have no idea," he replied, shoulders rolling in an elegant shrug. "I didn't know myself until one night last year when I was alone working late, and the building lost power. I had deadlines to meet, and so I just lit some candles and continued with my paperwork. It wasn't until I left that I realized that my office was still warm while the temperature everywhere else had dropped. I never thought to question it, although I did assume that it might be useful at some point."

"You don't know?" Breda repeated with incredulity. "You mean you weren't even interested in finding out?"

Hawkeye glanced his way, and the Colonel grimaced and picked up his pen once more. "Not particularly," he grumbled. "I've had more important things on my mind. Like my _paperwork_," he said, pointedly emphasizing the word and the First Lieutenant gave him a gracious nod before turning her attention back to the other men.

"Less chatter, more filing," she told them. "It's almost four now, and more paperwork is on its way."

Falman sighed fatalistically, and Breda looked annoyed. "How do you know that?"

She gave a dry, patient smile. "Can't you hear it?"

The room grew very quiet, and in the silence the sound that the Lieutenant had heard quickly became evident. It was a rhythmic, metallic clanking, but riding over that was a loud snarl of a voice. The angry noise grew louder every second; an incessant wave of pure irritation, not quite clear enough to be made out. Havoc chuckled softly as recognition dawned on him, and Mustang closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering to himself.

"Oh, that's wonderful. Just what I needed today."

The sound swelled with proximity, and soon it became possible to pick out words from the flow of indignation. "- _the fuck is _wrong _with these people? Goddamn idiots must get some fucked up pleasure out of suffering through this shit. Right? I'm right, aren't I? For fuck's sake, Al, can you_ believe _that asshole told me I shouldn't be wearing my coat indoors? And I _did _try to knock the snow off my boots before we came in, 's not _my _fault there's so fucking much of it. If they had any sense, they'd have shut the fucking building down and then no one would have to worry about snow getting tracked into the fucking corridors. And why the hell isn't the heat on? That's seriously messed up!_"

The clanking was growing louder as well, accompanied by a softer, somewhat hollow voice that murmured in counterpoint to the petulant diatribe. The Colonel began to slide lower in his seat, steadily disappearing behind the polished wood of his desk and right on cue, a resounding crash signaled the main office door being kicked open.

"Hey Colonel Bastard! I-" Fullmetal's annoyed shout was abruptly cut off, no doubt by his surprise at the empty office outside. "What the fuck? Don't tell me _he_ isn't here, when everyone else is freezing their goddamn asses off, and I just walked all the way from _Central_ fucking _Station _to deliver my report _'when I get back, or else_'!"

"_Did you really say that?_ " Havoc mouthed at the Colonel- or what he could still see of him over the desk- and Mustang rolled his eyes miserably. Both Breda and Fuery covered their mouths, valiantly attempting to hold back their snickers, but Hawkeye made an annoyed sound at the back of her throat and began moving toward the door.

At that, Mustang surged forward in his seat. "_No, don't_-!" he hissed, but she had already turned the knob, and was calling out a greeting to the Elric brothers. Havoc gave up any pretense of holding in the humor, and let out a cackle of sheer hilarity.

The Colonel cast a look of disgust at the First Lieutenant as she escorted the brothers into the inner office. "I'm surrounded by traitors," he announced to the room at large in aggrieved tones.

"About time they turned on you," Ed snapped as he stomped over to the sofa and flopped down on it carelessly. "What'd you do, steal one too many girlfriends?"

"Kept one too many secrets, actually," Breda remarked, watching the scene before him with amusement, all pretense of work gone. "But he came to his senses at the end."

"That's enough, Lieutenant," Mustang growled, clearly trying to reassert some control over the situation but Ed chortled with glee, leaning forward with his hands on his knees.

"Oh yeah? What'd he do?" He asked, ignoring the Colonel's spluttering as he grinned toothily at the staff in anticipation. "Does it have something to do with why you're all hiding out in his office?"

Havoc sniggered, and shot a look at Fuery, whose ears were glowing red. "Yeah, sure does."

"I'm surprised you haven't noticed by now," Falman commented, handing off a stack of reports to Hawkeye. "Aren't you comfortable in here?"

"Fuck no, it's too damn cold..." Edward's countenance suddenly sharpened as he realized that no one else was bundled up against the winter chill. Leveling a suspicious glare at Mustang- as though it were _his_ fault he'd been too preoccupied to take heed of his surroundings- the young alchemist furrowed his brow and focused on the room. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as the warmth finally registered, and he pointed a gloved finger accusingly at the Colonel.

"You were keeping _this_ to _yourself_? That's... do you _know_ how cold it is out there? Fuck, you really _are_ a bastard, aren't you?" Ed's arms flailed in impressive fashion, prompting a new round of laughter from the card tables. "Making people suffer must be one of your hobbies!"

The Colonel frowned, but then the expression melted smoothly into a smirk. "Not really. I usually only try to make _you_ suffer."

"You bastard!" Ed howled, setting off another wave of guffaws from the staff as he launched into a full-fledged rant, complete with kicks and stomps, and punches against the sofa cushions for punctuation. The Colonel sat back in his chair, watching his subordinate rage with a satisfied gleam in his eyes while Al tried in vain to calm his brother. From over Alphonse's armored shoulder, Hawkeye shot Mustang a look of pure exasperation that communicated as clearly as though spoken aloud, _and_ you're _supposed to be the adult here_.

Unsurprisingly, he ignored it.

Eventually Ed's shouting wore down to the occasional grumble, and when asked he threw his report at the Colonel, most of the papers landing on the desk. Hawkeye had already chivvied the other officers back to their duties, and she gave the Colonel a significantly stern glare that had him sighing and gathering the pages that landed on the floor without complaint. Still wrapped in his bright, overlong coat, Edward sprawled across the sofa, watching the others work and daring the Colonel with his eyes to say anything about his wet boots being on the upholstery.

For some time, the office actually operated like it was supposed to. Despite the relative warmth of the inner office, there was still a slight nip to the air and Mustang's men worked with diligence enough to please even the First Lieutenant in their eagerness to complete their work and get back to the comforts of the dorms. Alphonse had sidled over to sit on the floor next to Fuery, his thin voice occasionally rising above the shuffling of papers as he asked infrequent questions and helped with filing when Hawkeye's back was turned.

Even the Colonel had buckled down, apparently just as ready as the others to be done with the day. The towering stacks from earlier had been cleared away, and at last Fullmetal's report was the only one remaining on his desk. He took his time poring over it, now and then pausing to ask Edward a question or two which the young alchemist, dozing on the sofa, answered in a bored voice.

"Ed seems to have calmed down," Fuery remarked quietly to Alphonse, as he passed over another report for the younger Elric to file.

Sometimes, despite the expressionless helmet, it was possible to tell that Al was smiling. "Probably the heat," he replied, just as softly. "Brother gets so cold in the winter, because of his automail. As soon as we get someplace warm again, he usually goes right to sleep." A tiny chuckle seemed to echo deep behind his breastplate. "It's kind of nice, actually. Gives me a bit of peace and quiet."

Fuery stifled a laugh, hiding his amusement behind a sheet of schematics. "That's convenient. And good for us today, since it means the Colonel can get through Ed's paperwork without a fight." He sighed, his smile turning wistful. "I just wish I knew why the Colonel's office was so warm to begin with. There's nothing to set it apart from any of the other offices, and he doesn't have any kind of heater in here, and yet it's the only one in the whole building that's comfortable."

Al _hmmed_. "Is the Fuhrer's office without heat too?"

"The Fuhrer? I doubt it. All of his utilities are separate from the main building's. He's got backup generators, and special phone lines and such, so that even if everyone else is without power or telephone, he isn't cut off from the other offices." Fuery's eyes suddenly widened. "Do you think...?"

Al nodded. "His suites are above the Colonel's office, a few floors up, right?"

A look of enlightenment passed over the young Sergeant's face . "Yep. Which means that the heating ducts from the boilers for the Fuhrer's suites pass through the Colonel's walls! No wonder it stays warm!"

Across the table, Havoc looked up with deep disappointment painting his feature. "You mean it isn't alchemy that's making the heat?"

"Guess not," Fuery replied. "Looks like it's just engineering."

Havoc sighed, bouncing his cigarette on his lip. "That's not interesting at all."

"Who cares?" Breda said. "It's warm, we're here, and that's all that matters."

"Yeah, but..."

The stout Lieutenant reached over and smacked Havoc on the head. "Shut up, Jean, and just appreciate it. Shit."

The blond Lieutenant smoothed his hair back, giving Breda a disgruntled glare. "That was unnecessary," he grumbled, turning back to his paperwork.

Al and Fuery exchanged a glance, and then shrugged. Maybe it wasn't alchemy, but it was still a mystery solved. And Breda was right; they were all snug in the Colonel's office today, and likely tomorrow as well if the boilers weren't repaired overnight. Really, things seemed to be turning out all right after all.

Even better was Hawkeye's announcement, after receiving the Colonel's approval of Fullmetal's report, that everyone was dismissed for the day. Despite the long, cold walk back to the dorms ahead of them, the men were all cheered by the prospect of warm rooms and beds, and with much enthusiasm they began putting on coats and hats once again in preparation for facing the frigid outdoors.

Everyone except Edward, that is.

"Wake up, Fullmetal, it's time to go," the Colonel growled, prodding the young alchemist in the thigh with the toe of his boot. "You're holding everyone up."

Ed drowsily opened one eye and favored them with a bleary stare. "No thanks," he muttered. "Fine where I am."

The Colonel folded his arms and glared down at Fullmetal. "No way," he stated. "I am not leaving you unattended in my office. Get up, before I have you carried out."

"Yeah, I'd like to see you try." Ed's grin was vicious. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Don't tempt me," the Colonel growled. "Hawkeye?"

"Sorry sir, but I'm off duty."

Ed cackled. "Looks like you've got to do your own dirty work, Colonel Bastard."

"Fullmetal, just get _up_!" Mustang snapped, not even bothering to hide his annoyance. "Everyone is ready to go but you. Maybe you don't have any plans, but I have a date with a bottle of scotch and my fireplace in half an hour."

"Aw, c'mon, Boss," Havoc called. "You and Al can come by my room, and we'll play some cards if Heymans here can keep from cheating."

"Fuck you, Jean."

"Anyway," he continued, "even if the office feels pretty good, the dorms are always warmer."

The lazy gold stare shifted to the Second Lieutenant. "Not tonight," he stated. "Haven't you heard?"

In an instant, all eyes were on him. "Heard what?" Fuery ventured hesitantly.

"The boilers for the dorms gave out this afternoon. Overheard Sergeant Mills telling Colonel Bevins when we arrived today." Ed's eyes sagged closed once more. "So you can go on if you want, but I'm staying."

The officers stared at him in shocked horror, then shared looks of dread amongst themselves. "No heat?" Fuery whimpered, and even Hawkeye appeared unsettled by the news.

"That will be more than uncomfortable," Falman opined, his long face drooping as he began calculating aloud wind chills and probabilities for ice formation indoors. Havoc settled for cursing, a long, strung-out litany of complaints that would have done even Ed justice.

But Breda swung around to face the Colonel with a crafty glint in his eyes.

"So," he drawled. "Fireplace, eh, sir?"

Color drained from Mustang's face "Oh no," he stammered, holding his hands up in a warding-off gesture. "No, no..." But it was as though he hadn't spoken. His men- Hawkeye included- all gathered around him, herding him out the door amid a flurry of good-natured chatter.

"...so kind of you to take us all in, sir!"

"...can't wait to get next to that fireplace, shit, it's freezing out!..."

"... is it a big bottle of scotch, sir? I sure hope it's a big bottle..."

"...look on the bright side, sir- maybe this will help you get to work on time tomorrow..."

On the sofa, Ed rolled to his feet and stood, stretching, before trotting along after the phalanx of blue that was steadily pushing the Colonel toward the door, heedless of his protests. "C'mon, Al," he said. "Let's go."

"Are we going to the Colonel's house too, brother?" Alphonse asked, falling in line as well.

"Sure. Bastard's got a fireplace, after all."

He waited while Al carefully closed the inner office door and then the two hurried after the soldiers, who were now hustling the Colonel down the corridor. "Hey Mustang!" he shouted, as he jogged after them. "You've got plenty of food at your place, right? 'Cause I'm _really_ hungry!"

His only reply was a strangled moan from the Colonel, but it was quickly lost in the chorus of agreement that arose. Ed let out a snort of malicious pleasure, and hurried to catch up.


End file.
